Forty years
by MengMongster
Summary: One-shot of Alex's life when he's forty years old. Looking into a series of one-shots with different scenarios for Alex at forty.


Blurb: A series of unconnected one-shots on Alex when he's forty. Different lives, different scenarios.

A/N: Sorry I haven't been updating. A levels coming right up and all that. Currently stuck trying to figure out the apparent weight of an eccentric idiot who has decided to stand on a weighing scale on a lift, and this was the result. I'm sure you won't be surprised if this story includes a lift. They're very practical everyday things, after all, and that's why they also haunt people in physics texts.

Disclaimer: As always.

* * *

Chapter 1

At fifteen, Alex had moved to the United States, living with Sabina and her family. Many years passed since then, and Alex found the days blending together. Going to school with Sabina, attending classes, going home together. Weekends spent rowing, sailing, climbing, hiking, lying on the beach with Sabina... It passed this way – uninterrupted, uneventful – for four years.

Eighteen came, and Alex found himself returning to England, and enrolling in Oxford University, following in the footsteps of a father he never knew. The only contact he and Sabina had now was through Skype, and Alex found himself being absorbed deeper into his studies and his range of assorted co-curriculars while his relationship took a backseat.

Choosing what degree to pursue had not been easy for Alex. In the end, he'd been drawn to mathematics because he was good at it. The International Relations angle, however, came after he realized that, after touring the world at a young age with Ian, then touring it some more at the orders of Alan Blunt, he'd come to gain a profound interest in such affairs.

It was six months to go before graduation from college. Secretly, Alex was glad that he could have made it this far and even more surprised that MI6 hadn't come into contact ever since the events that led to his adoption by the Pleasures.

Alex strolled briskly through the quad, looking down at his watch. 2 p.m. His tutor had scheduled a meeting with him, and Alex, well- aware of the good impression that his tutor had of him, did not want to ruin it in the remaining days he had left at university. He ran up the stairs and knocked at the door.

"Come on in!" A jolly voice called from inside the room.

Alex pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

"Mr. Rider! Do you know why I called you here today?" Professor Fredricks asked. He was a balding man of about fifty, with a large gut that prevented him from reaching across his table when he sat down.

"No, sir." Alex responded, voice bordering on curiosity.

"What do you have in mind after college?"

So this was what it was about. Deep down, Alex wasn't surprised that it was coming; teachers were always known to have some interest in their students' lives after they graduated and even his high school teachers were no exception. Alex had his answer ready. "Teaching math, I've already went down from some interviews with a couple of schools."

"Teaching math?" Professor Fredricks leaned forwards towards his cup and took a gulp of coffee, while holding eye contact with Alex the whole time. "I was thinking that you'd be more interested in something… related to your _other _degree."

"Other degree?" Alex repeated. "No thanks, prof, but I've always had an aversion to sitting behind a desk twenty four-seven, writing papers that nobody reads."

"Oh, that wasn't what I was referring to, Mr. Rider. What I had in mind has very little to do with _writing papers. _Have you ever thought about a career in intelligence?"

"Intelligence? You mean MI6?" Alex was starting to regret the strong bonds that he'd formed with this particular tutor.

"Yes."

_You've gotta be kidding me. _Alex's facial expressions remained impassive as he wondered how to say no without offending the teacher. "Well sir, I'm actually quite accident-prone, and some breathing difficulties when I got into a bicycle accident many years ago…"

"Mr. Rider, I'm asking you to be an intelligence officer, not run marathons on Mount Everest. As we have it, you've a keen interest in international affairs and I have here your personal information when you applied for this college two years ago. It says that you have a black belt in Karate, and speak multiple foreign languages. Unless you faked your application form." Fredricks' eyebrows arched as he took another sip of his coffee. "I know you'll think about it when you get back, Alex. The expression on your face tells me you're actually very interested by my proposition." Fredricks continued.

Alex, recognizing the dismissal for what it was, stood up. "Thank you, sir. I will think about it, and then I'll come find you."

Back inside his room, Alex's head was whirling. Could he, after all the multiple rejections to Blunt's job offers so many years before, actually be serious about wanting to return to that life? Despite what he'd told Fredricks earlier, he didn't actually believe himself. A part of him saw the difference he could make – a bigger difference than being a _math _teacher – and wanted to achieve it, but the other part reminded him of his father and his uncle and everyone else whose lives had met abrupt ends.

He rotated in his swivel chair, lost in thought, only to find himself facing a row of photographs on the wall when the chair stopped. His eyes narrowed as they found Ian's face among the many faces. It smiled back at him, seemingly taunting him to make a decision. And that was when Alex knew what he wanted.

* * *

_Twenty years later_

True enough, Alex didn't spend much of his time sitting behind a desk for the next twenty years.

He'd travelled to Medina, Mongolia, the Maldives and a whole host of other countries, most of them not beginning with the letter 'M', ever since he joined the company. And now, at the age of forty, it was time to stop travelling.

The lift Alex was riding in ground to a halt on the eighth floor of the Royal and General Bank, and Alex stepped out. Walking fifty meters down the corridor… and here. Alex glanced up at the room number by habit, even though he knew that he'd stopped at the right door.

He knocked out of sheer force of habit, even though he knew that nobody would answer. It was now his office, after all. Stepping inside, Alex saw that the room was indeed empty. He looked around the vast space for a moment, thinking of all the men who'd stepped inside it, sometimes never to return. He thought of his father and uncle and all the other colleagues he'd known over the years who had paid the ultimate sacrifice. He strolled towards the window and made a brief attempt to count the number of bird droppings left on the window ledge before plonking himself down into the chair with a sigh.

Alex leant back in the chair, staring into the polished mahogany table. And what lay on top of it. Specifically, the single piece of 200 gram A4 paper, folded in half.

_Congratulations, _it read on the cover.

Alex flipped it open.

_Always knew that you'd be sitting in my chair one day. Best of luck. – Blunt. _

Alex scowled.


End file.
